Don't Let Me Go
by NicJ
Summary: Blaine is a jock at William McKinley High. Kurt is the quiet, yet enamoring new kid with a mysterious past. Will Kurt be able to overcome his past and let Blaine love him? Or will Blaine's alcoholic father get in the way before he has the chance? AU
1. Preface

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, everyone! This is my first ever FanFiction, and I hope this is okay. I've had this idea for a while, so hopefully I'll finish it. This is just the preface; Chapter 1 will soon follow. Enjoy!

* * *

**PREFACE**

I can smell the alcohol on his breath; it's rancid and makes me flinch, reminding me of all the other times he's been this close while this inebriated.

He's shouting incoherent obscenities, spit's flying out of his mouth, and his hands are flailing everywhere. I try not to shrink back into the wall behind me, but my mind goes back to the last time he was this far gone, and I can't help the jolt of fear that stabs through me.

As scared as I am for myself, it doesn't compare to the panic I'm feeling at the thought of my Angel here with me.

I'm so glad I told him not to come. I have no illusions that my father would have taken kindly to my boyfriend; he probably would have attacked him, and it definitely would have been worse than this.

The first of many inevitable blows lands, and I'm caught off guard. I stumble and hit my head on the edge of the coffee table. I'm dazed for a few seconds, but still wondering: _Why isn't he kicking me like he usually does?_

The doorbell is ringing, the shrill sound resonating through the air insistently. He reluctantly trudges off to answer, muttering gruffly to himself and casting looks of disgust toward me. A feeling of dread washes over me; who would be ringing the doorbell so frantically?

He opens the door.

_Oh, no._

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Soo...what did you think? Please tell me in a review. Thank you!


	2. Falling Slowly

**1. Falling Slowly**

My backpack is chafing against the bruise on my shoulder, but I grit my teeth against the pain; I've become accustomed to it over the years. I'm walking with a slight limp, dreading gym class and track practice after school.

I hope someone will notice, but at the same time, I wish they won't say anything.

* * *

"Dude, you okay?" My best friend Noah sidles up next to me on our way to homeroom. Noah is tall and muscular with brown hair that he fashions into a mohawk. Girls are always drooling over him. He complains when his parents take away his X-Box if he goes over his allotted minutes on the family cell phone plan. He lives a charmed life.

I've never told Noah about my dad . Noah wouldn't understand about that, but he understands other things about me better than my dad ever could.

I'm gay.

"Yeah, man, I'm fine. Just landed wrong in practice the other day." I smile through my lie, silently begging Noah to drop it, but hoping he'll realize something's wrong. God, I'm pathetic.

"Jeez, Blaine, maybe you should get that checked out. Practice was two days ago. You might've sprained it."

I laugh without humor, but Noah doesn't notice. "Yeah. I'll go to the nurse before the end of the day." _Should've iced it at home, anyway._ I guess now I'm begging for some kind of attention.

Walking into homeroom, there's another boy standing at the teacher's desk. He's a little on the tall side, with chestnut brown hair that's tousled all around his head, like he just woke up, but you can tell it was intentional. I sit down, still staring at the back of this kid's head, effectively ignoring Noah droning about what sport he should try out for this season in addition to track. I think he's weighing the pros and cons of lacrosse before the kid finally turns around.

Holy crap.

His piercing blue eyes meet my hazel for a second, and then he walks to his seat on the other side of the room. My eyes are following him, I've even turned my body to ogle him some more.

He's thin, which when paired with his nearly translucent skin makes him seem delicate. Those eyes that were so fierce a few seconds ago are now downcast. His long fingers are absentmindedly turning his pencil around. I follow the movement, until Noah finally notices my inattention.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asks angrily. "Dude, what are you even…" he trails off, following my line of sight to the perfect creature that has walked into my life. "Oh. Well, he's…" he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to find the right adjective, "uh…hot." The way he says it makes it sound like a question.

I snort laughter. "Dude, just…stop. I appreciate that you're trying, but…no." I shake my head.

Noah clears his throat and shrugs. "Well, you've been staring at him since we walked in." He snickers. "Does he have a nice ass?"

I shove him. "Dude!" I look around and whisper, "I was _not_ looking at his ass!"

"Well, why not? He's got a nice one, as far as dude's asses go."

The fact that he managed to say this with a straight face has me cracking up. "Were _you_ looking at his ass, then?"

He shrugs again. "I might have _noticed_ it," he says nonchalantly.

I shake my head again. "Well I wasn't looking. What was it like?"

He scowls at me. "Perv!"

I put my hands up. "Hey, you were looking, not me."

The bell for first period rings before he gets the chance to reply, so he just glares at me. I look back towards the boy I've dubbed "Angel" and see that he's already left. I frown, and realize that I've been thinking more about Angel than the throbbing in my arm; I almost didn't feel it. Noah claps me on the back, and I wince at the twinge of pain it brings. "Maybe you'll have some classes with him."

I smile a little bit. "Yeah, maybe." _Here's hoping._

* * *

I'm on my way to sixth period lunch when I see him again. He has his face buried in his schedule, and he looks up every so often. Is he lost? _This is an opening Blaine! Talk to him!_ I'm about to quicken my pace and walk up to him when he accidentally walks in to one of Noah's football teammates. His name is Azimio, and everyone is terrified of him. He looks at Angel like he's dirt on his brand new Nikes. "Watch it, dweeb!" Angel tries to squeak out an apology, but Azimio pushes him. He goes flying and falls, losing his bag and papers along the way. Onlookers laugh, none more than Azimio's best friend Dave Karofsky. The two exchange high-fives. Angel's sitting against lockers, eyes closed, biting his lip. I think I see his jaw quivering, but I'm not sure. Even without the quivering jaw, he looks like the picture of sadness. I feel tightness in my chest at the sight of it.

_Pull yourself together, Anderson. You don't even know if he's gay._

I try to gather all of his things before everyone tramples and ruins them. When I grab his schedule, I see him watching me curiously out of the corner of my eye. I feel nervous, having those calculating blue eyes on me, so I try to avoid his gaze and silently hand him his stuff.

Our fingertips touch, and I feel something akin to a jolt of electricity flow through my arm. I look up at him, and he's still staring at me.

God, he's beautiful.

"Thank you," he says softly.

"Yeah," I say stupidly. _Why can't I remember how to talk when he's looking at me?_ "Sure thing." He's still sitting down, so I extend my hand, hoping he'll take it.

He slides his hand into mine, and I feel like it's on fire. _So soft…_ He's still staring at me levelly, not giving away any hints as to if he's feeling it too.

I clear my throat and realize that we're still holding hands. I reluctantly let him pull his from my grip. I'm already missing his warmth. _Oh, God, you are so pathetic._

He's still staring at me. Please stop staring at me, unless you want me to become a puddle of drool at your feet.

"Um…were you lost? Before?"

He nods. "I was looking for the cafeteria. I walked past it a few times, but I don't know how to get there from here…" he trails off awkwardly.

_Yes! Another opening!_ "Well, you're in luck. I'm on my way there, too."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? Well lead on, sir." He smiles a coy little smile at me, and takes my hand.

This boy will be the death of me. "What's your name?"

"Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

I grin at him, trying to flirt. Is this flirting? I'll have to ask Noah later. "Pleased to meet you, Kurt Hummel. I'm Blaine Anderson."

* * *

When we walk into the cafeteria—no longer holding hands-Noah is sitting at our usual table, looking very agitated. "Dude! You're like, ten minutes late! Give me my money, I need to _eat_!"

"Sorry I took so long," I say, fishing his money out of my pocket. "I was helping out our new friend, Kurt."

He looks him up and down and smirks. "So, that's his name. Kurt."

Kurt looks confused, but I'm nearing mortification. _Please don't say what I think you're going to say…_

Noah ploughs on. "It would've been funny if his name really was Angel, huh Blaine?" He's trying not to laugh. Bastard.

Kurt is still confused. "Who's Angel?"

I'm still glaring at Noah while I answer. "No idea." I say in a hard voice. "Hey, Noah, why don't you go sit with Julie, or Mindy, or whoever it is you're dating this week? It's so hard to keep track."

He laughs. "Yeah, I'll bet it's hard!"

He scampers away before I get the chance to hit him. I shake my head at his antics, mad, but still able to see the humor. I turn around and see Kurt sitting at the table, and my anger melts away.

_God, it's hopeless._

I sit down across from him, and I can't help wishing that this was in a more private setting…_No. Stop right there. SLOW DOWN._

"Why did you have his money?" It's a few seconds before I answer, too busy turning the sound of his voice around in my head—clear and tinkling, like a bell—to actually hear his words.

"Uhh…" _What did he say again? Oh right!_ "Noah's a child. If I let him handle his own money he'd waste it on candy bars and soda and then beg me for half of my lunch." Our section is called to get in line, so I stand up. Kurt doesn't. "Aren't you eating?"

"I had free lunch at my old school, and I haven't filled out the necessary forms yet, and I don't have any money, so…"

I wave him up. "Come on. You'll just share mine. What are friends for, you know?" _We're friends, right?_

He bites his lip again. Does he know what that does to me? _No, stop it. Stop it right now. Find out if he's gay first, remember?_ But how do you bring something like that up in conversation?

"But you were just complaining about Noah taking your lunch, and I wouldn't want to impose or anything."

"Oh, please, you wouldn't be imposing! Just this once, and you'll bring money tomorrow, so no harm done, right?"

He's still unsure, so I, in a feat of boldness (stupidity), grab his hand (again) and tug him into line with me. He gasps, and I'm suddenly aware that this isn't a deserted hallway. I drop his hand quickly, hoping no one noticed.

The way the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up tells me someone did.

I surreptitiously look around, acutely aware of where Kurt is in relation to my body, just in case. He looks terrified, and that answers my question.

He's definitely gay.

Azimio is staring at us, tapping Karofsky on his shoulder, saying something, pointing at us. I feel my body go cold. "Get inside. Now." I get behind Kurt and usher him into the station to get our trays. I hear the monitor call Goliath's section next. I turn around, and he and his friend are pushing people out of the way to be the first in line. The closest to us.

Kurt is trying hard to appear normal, calm himself down. He already has a tray, so I bypass that part of the line and get next to him. "What do you want? I know our choices aren't exactly appetizing…or entirely edible…but they'll get you full." And cue awkward laughter.

He just looks at me. He still looks scared. I say quietly, "You are gay, right?"

His eyes widen, but he nods slightly. "Would you like to go on a date with me?" I ask, even quieter than before.

Now he's looking at me like I'm crazy. I shrug. "Is this really the best time? I'm pretty sure that you're pretty sure that that…beast is going to beat us up or something!"

I look behind us. Azimio and company are getting trays. Karofsky sees me looking, nudges Azimio, and they both glare. I step closer to Kurt. "I wouldn't let him touch you." And it's true; the thought of seeing the pale skin on Kurt being bruised makes my stomach churn.

Kurt smiles a little, but his eyes are still scared. I lean forward to block our hands from view as I place mine over his. Hopefully I'm being comforting. He smiles a bit wider, but then his eyes flicker to something behind me and it falls rapidly. He pushes my hand away, and at the same time, I feel a sinister presence behind me.

"Hey, Anderson," he says. "Or would you prefer fudge packer?" he and his friend snigger at the less-than-clever comment. "Never pegged you for a fag. This little fairy's only been here for a day and he's got you converted? Must've sucked you real good in the hallway."

My skin's crawling and my blood is boiling, anger rippling off of me in waves. I'm shouting at him in my head to shut up and stop talking about Angel like that, imagining actually doing something with my clenched fists besides cutting my palms when I notice Kurt.

He's shaking, but not from anger: from fear. He's quivering like a leaf, eyes darting around, chest heaving. His knees are knocking together and the food on our tray is moving like there's an earthquake.

I have to get him out of here.

I turn to Azimio and say, very clearly, "Fuck off." I take the tray from Kurt so he doesn't tip it and guide him forward with a hand to his back. The cashier looks at us suspiciously, but takes the money.

Once we're out of the station, I go to where Noah is with Debbie and drop my tray in front of him. "Dude, what—" he cuts himself off when he sees Kurt. "Bathroom?"

I nod. "Second nearest, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got you." I can see the concern on his face, and I'm grateful for him now more than I've ever been.

I pull Kurt along by his wrist until we're down the hall in the bathroom second-closest to the cafeteria. Thankfully, there's no one in any of the stalls, and I lock the door. When I turn and see Kurt, I freeze.

_Jesus Christ. He's full-on hyperventilating._

_What have people done to him?_

I grab his shoulders and shake him a little. "Kurt? Kurt calm down. It's okay, you're okay. They're not gonna hurt you." I'm trying to be soothing and authoritative simultaneously. Don't think it's working.

Someone pulls at the handle and then bangs on the door. "Blaine, dude, open up!" I let go of Kurt to let Noah in. He sets the tray down on a sink and locks the door again. "What happened? What's wrong with him?"

I swallow my panic and tell Noah, and the whole time Kurt still isn't breathing normally. He doesn't look scared anymore, but he's still hyperventilating.

"I think we should take him to the nurse," Noah suggests.

Kurt looks scared again. "No!" gasp "she'll" gasp "call" gasp "my" gasp "dad!" He's wheezing again.

"Dude, you can't even say a sentence right. You're going." And with that tone of finality, Noah turns him around and takes him two halls over to the nurse's office. I grab the lunch tray, hoping that Kurt will eat something.

I don't run there like I want to; I force myself to keep a steady pace to try to reign my panic in until it's just worry. I take a deep breath and walk in.

Noah is standing against the wall with his arms folded across his broad chest, watching intently. Kurt is taking deep breaths at the nurse's instruction. I go to Noah.

"What happened?" he hissed.

"I already told you," I whispered back.

"No, I mean what happened to him to make him like _this_."

I feel the same tightness in my chest, trying to imagine someone hurting him. "I don't know. I'm not even sure I want to know, you know?"

He nods curtly.

The nurse rolls up Kurt's sleeve to take his blood pressure. Kurt refuses to watch and has his eyes fixed on the floor. I see a tear roll down his cheek, and I clench my jaw. _Control, control._

The nurse looks at Kurt with sadness and pity. "Oh, honey—" Kurt yanks his sleeve back down before she finishes. She hands him the phone. "Call your father."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I wouldn't want to bother him at work. They're already understaffed at the garage, I wouldn't want to make things more difficult, you know?" I can tell that he's begging in his head to just let him leave.

"You should call him, man. He'd want to know, he's your dad," Noah chimes in. Kurt looks startled, like he forgot we were here.

"I'll call him, okay sweetie?" the nurse takes the phone back from him. Kurt sits in the chair across from where we're standing and puts his head in his hands. I hesitate, trying to decide what the best course of action is. _Should I stay here and try to figure out what the hell just happened? Should I go comfort him? Will he want me to comfort him? Why does it hurt so much to think that he won't?_

My feet carry me to Kurt's side on their own accord, and I sit next to him. He tenses a bit, and I slowly reach my hand out, knowing that he's watching me out of the corner of his eye. I put my hand on his shoulder blade and try to ignore the fact that he seems frightened by the contact. He starts to relax a little once I lightly brush my hand across his back in an attempt to soothe him. In the back of my mind, I wonder if I'm caressing him, and if that's appropriate for this stage in our non-relationship.

_It feels good to touch him like this,_ I muse.

The nurse talks to his father for a few minutes, and in those few minutes Kurt has turned his body so that he's leaning in to me. His head is resting on my chest, so I extend my strokes to down his back. I wonder what I'm supposed to say…

The nurse's voice jars me from my musings. "Well, Carl—"

"Kurt," Noah corrects. He's been watching us the whole time. I don't know what expression is on his face.

She smiles pleasantly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Kurt, of course, I'm sorry. Kurt, your father will be here in about fifteen minutes to take you home, alright?"

He stiffens in my arms and lifts his head up. "What? No, he doesn't have to do that. It's his business, he can't leave! I haven't even finished my first day of school yet, and I _promised_—" he cuts himself off abruptly and sags back into me. He seems to have resigned himself to his fate. He sighs, and I hold him tighter, trying to give him some strength. He looks up at me and smiles a little bit before snuggling back into me. I put my chin on top of his head and wrap my arms completely around him.

"Is this okay?" I whisper.

He looks up at me again and nods. "And just so you know," he says in my ear, "I wouldn't mind going on that date with you." He gives me a sly smile, like he knows exactly how my heart's pounding right now.

* * *

So...what do you think? I'd love to hear what you have to say!


	3. Addicted to Love

I would like to thank everyone that already put this story on their alerts, it really means a lot :)

And thanks to my first reviewer, **LatinMagicWriter is on fire**.

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2. Addicted to Love

Even though Kurt has calmed considerably, I keep my hold on him, not wanting to let go for whatever reason. Noah is smirking at me the entire time, but doesn't relax his defensive pose. He seems to think he's acting as sentinel or something, because he always looks threateningly at whoever happens to walk by.

I'm quite enjoying holding Kurt against me, despite the way the nurse glances up at us every so often. It feels…right. I take a chance and put my face against the top of his head, sneaking a kiss. Noah snorts, but I ignore him. I think I hear Kurt giggle, but I'm not sure.

The door suddenly bursts open, and instead of pulling apart like we should have, we freeze. Well, I freeze, I'm not entirely sure what's going through Kurt's head, but the look on his face clearly reads, "Oh, crap."

The man that has just walked in is bald, wearing a baseball cap to cover it. He's got on grease-stained coveralls with _Burt_ sewn on the front in red cursive. I gulp.

He stops, and his green eyes assess our embrace critically. His jaw clenches.

"Hi, Dad," Kurt breathes nervously. He gulps. I start stroking his arm again to soothe him.

This does not escape Mr. Hummel's notice, and his mouth sets into a hard line. When he speaks, it sounds like he's forcing herself to sound calm. "Are you alright, Kurt?"

He nods. "Yeah, I'm fine. Blaine and Noah helped calm me down. I'm sorry for worrying you, but you really didn't need to come get me. I'm in good hands; nothing would have happened." He smiles at me, and I hear the truth in his statement: he would always be safe from any kind of danger whenever he was with me. I'll probably end up so annoyingly protective that he'll complain. I tighten my hold on him and smile back.

He looks at me like I'm mud on his shoe—I certainly have a propensity for getting those looks, don't I?—and attempts a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. I can tell that he's trying to find something to say that will diffuse the awkwardness. "Are you Blaine or Noah?" He asks me.

I extend my left hand and keep my right arm wrapped around Kurt's shoulders. "Blaine Anderson." The look on his face says that she doesn't want to shake, but he grips my hand firmly. I can't tell if he's trying to crush my hand or not, so I just assume that he always shakes hands like this.

Noah steps forward and gives her his signature cocky grin, also extending his hand. "Noah Puckerman. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir, just wish it was under better circumstances."

He gives another grimace-smile. "Yes, well…" he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck, and it's awkward again.

"Do you have enough people to cover right now?" Kurt asks.

"Don't worry about it, alright? Let's just get you home." He forces a tight smile for him, which isn't much better than the constipated look he gets every time he looks at me.

Kurt leans back into me a bit more. _He's so warm…"_No, Dad. I want to stay. We've been here awhile, so there's only, like, a period and a half of the day left, I'll be fine." Burt still looks dubious. "I can handle it," Kurt insists earnestly.

Burt pulls up a chair and sits across from him, taking one of his hands in both of his. "What happened, buddy? Did somebody hurt you?" When he says this, he takes on a fierce expression that clearly displays his anger at the thought of someone hurting him. _He just became more likeable._

"Well…" he leaves it hanging and looks at me, unsure. "I don't know where to start," he admits sheepishly.

"Do you want me to tell him?" I ask him quietly. He nods. I blow out some air and prepare myself. "Well, Mr. Hummel, there's this football player named Azimio that everybody's scared of, 'cause he's freaking huge—" Kurt elbows me. "Right, sorry. Anyway, Azimio saw me and Kurt holding hands in the cafeteria and—"

_Once again, cut off by a Hummel._ "And why were you holding hands with my son?" he asks sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"He was pulling me to the lunch line," Kurt's clear voice cuts in. "But once he realized what he did, he dropped it. Then he saw that Azimio guy and one of his friends watching us, so he pushed me inside the food station and kept himself between me and them the whole time." He smiles at this, and I take the hand that his father isn't holding. _Hopefully he's cool with PDA after this._ "I was already kind of freaking out, so I don't know what words were exchanged, but Blaine was furious. Then he looked at me, all scared and pathetic—" he drops his head and blushes "—and took me to the bathroom to calm me down. He was great." He blushes again. _That is so cute._

Mr. Hummel, on the other hand, looks horrified. "You are _not_ coming back here." He has a determined look on his face, a look that I am both impressed by and slightly miffed at.

"What?" Kurt yelps in alarm. I'm quite alarmed myself, and I squeeze his hand and bring him to my chest tighter with my right arm. "We just got here! We've been here for a week; half my stuff is still in boxes!"

"Well, then it'll be easier for you to pack, won't it?"

"That's not the point! You said you wanted me to make friends, be happy! I already have more friends than I did there and I'm tons happier! _Please_ don't take this away from me," he begs. _Yeah,_ I silently agree, _don't take him away from me. _

_Wait, what? Too much, Anderson, too much._

I get the feeling that he doesn't usually yell, because his father looks shocked. Or maybe that's because he's made friends…

He pulls him aside for a heated discussion. I only catch snippets—"supposed to be safe," "going to be hurt again," "careful"—of Mr. Hummel's quiet urging; Kurt vehemently says "no" mostly. At one point, Mr. Hummel turns his frosty gaze to me, and the next section of conversation is softer on Kurt's part. He still looks unsure, but Kurt says something else in that soft tone and he relents.

"Fine," he says, his voice hard, "you can finish the rest of the day. But if something else happens, you _tell me_, alright?"

He nods fervidly. "Yes, absolutely. And I'll ask for help when I need it and come here when I have to, all that jazz." He waves a hand dismissively through the air.

"This is serious, Kurt!" he says in consternation.

"Sorry." He bows his head.

His father stands there deliberating for a bit longer. "Right, well…I'm gonna get back to the garage and see if the guys are okay." He gives Kurt one last significant look and leaves.

We're silent for a few seconds before the bell rings and the hall outside is flooded with kids. "Oh, dear," the nurse says. "I'll write you boys passes for your current class and notes to explain your absence to your last period class. What did you have last, honey?" The term of endearment is directed at Kurt, but Noah answers.

"Chemistry with Connors, sweetie," he says, smiling his "charming and irresistible" smile. She responds with a grimace, but writes out his note anyway.

"And you?" she asks, looking pointedly at Kurt.

He smiles a little and says, "English with…Simms, I think it was. Let me check." He's now rifling through his bag for his schedule. He whips it out triumphantly, eliciting a chuckle from me. I look away before he can narrow his eyes at me. "Yup, it's Simms."

_Holy crap! Not only do I get to eat lunch with him, but we have English, too?_ I'm only mentally happy-dancing, but a squeak breaks through. Only Noah hears, but that's bad enough. He sniggers at me.

The nurse turns to me. "And what about you?"

"Same." _Oh my god. Did my voice just break?_ Based on the way Noah has snorted, yes, yes it did. I can only hope that Kurt didn't notice—oh, wait, he's holding in giggles too. _Awesome. Let's see if I can get through the rest of the day without embarrassing myself._

__Easier said than done.

* * *

Kurt and I are now walking to our shared Art class, and I am just barely managing to not reach over and grab his hand. _Jesus, Anderson, pull yourself together! You're drooling over this guy you've just met, you don't know anything about him, and it seems like he comes with a lot of baggage. Baggage is BAD, as Noah has explained to you. It's just a crush; no need to go all out._

Kurt starts some conversation. "So, about that date…" he trails off.

_Oh, yeah, I have a date!_ "What about it?" I ask, trying—and failing—to appear nonchalant and aloof. Judging by his smirk, he sees through it.

"Well, I agreed to go on the aforementioned date, and I would very much like to know what I'll be doing on said date." Sometime during this statement, Kurt's soft hand has found its way into mine, and I can't help but revel in it.

"Right, well, I was thinking that, since my dad's out of town this weekend—" thank God "—that you could come to my house."

"It's a bit fast for that, don't you think?" he quips.

My brows furrow in confusion, but I catch on after a few seconds. "No, I'm not suggesting anything…like that; I was thinking that we could eat dinner in my tree house and…talk. Okay, that tree house bit sounded way less lame and a lot more romantic in my head, but we could go for pizza and a movie if you want." _Whatever you want, just please go on the date with me!_

He swings our arms a little and giggles before replying. "Eating dinner in your tree house sounds plenty romantic."

"Don't patronize me," I mutter. A few more giggles escape, but when I look at him warningly, he stifles them and apologizes. "You're gonna have to be a little more convincing than that, babe," I tease.

He quirks an eyebrow at this. "That sounds like a challenge."

"Well maybe it is." _Is this flirting? Are we flirting right now?_

His eyes dart around, his expression calculating, but when he finishes his search, he brightens and says, "Challenge accepted."

I'm trying to think of something witty to say to keep up our banter when something stops all train of thought, all movement, and all bodily functions.

Those blue eyes I keep getting lost in are much, _much_ closer than before, and there's this pressure on my lips—

Oh sweet Mother of God.

Holy fuck.

Half of me is freaking out for a second—_What do I do, what the hell do I do?_—and the other half is berating me—_Kiss back, you idiot!_

Oh, right.

By the time I've worked that out, Kurt is pulling away looking nervous. _Can't have that._ I chase his lips with mine and catch them before there's even a millimeter of space between them. Now that I'm invested in the kiss, he closes his eyes. The hand that isn't holding his works its way to his face and cups his cheek. _So soft…_

All too soon, it ends. Even though it wasn't that long or vigorous, we're both panting. Kurt grins and bites his bottom lip—which is now his cutest and my favorite expression. "We should probably get to class," he says breathlessly.

_What? No, we should stay here and kiss more!_ "Do we have to?" I pout.

He giggles. "Yes. It's my first day, and I've already missed two classes; I don't want to make another bad impression."

"Fine," I grumble. I tug his hand and lead him to a stairwell to take us to Art. "You'll like Ms. Dubois; she's awesome."

"Is that so?" His tone is light, and it makes me smile.

"Yeah. She gives these projects every marking period that go with our topic. Last marking period was photography; we had to all take pictures of the same things and see all the different ways it could be interpreted depending on how you manipulate it—if it's negative or sepia, you know?"

"Sounds like fun."

"It is! We have two-week mini assignments that go with them, too, to gauge our progress; she'll give us different subtopics to do, like to take a picture of an aspect of nature or something."

"Cool. What's the topic this marking period?"

"Don't know yet; she's supposed to tell us today."

"Well, that's another reason to go to class, isn't it?" He teases.

"I suppose. Ah, here we are, good sir," I say pompously, opening the door with a flourish and bowing.

He chuckles and plays along. "Why thank you, my good man."

When we get into the classroom, we're met by silence. We have the attention of every person in the room, and I see Kurt squirm out of the corner of my eye. I put my hand on his shoulder, partly to reassure him and partly to steer him to Ms. Dubois' stool.

Ms. Dubois is…a little off the mark, but artist equals eccentric, right? The black frame of her glasses always matches something in her outfit, whether it's the polka dots on her shirt or her penny loafers. Her brown hair definitely has the potential to be nice, but it's really frizzy, which kind of adds to her charm.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns!" She exclaims airily. "I was wondering where you'd wandered off to, Blaine," she wags a finger at me disapprovingly. "You naughty boy—you weren't planning on cutting, were you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it; I couldn't handle not seeing your pretty face every day." Everyone's like that with Ms. Dubois. I don't know how it started, but we all have that flirty banter with her, even the girls.

Kurt, not yet accustomed to this routine, raises his eyebrows in surprise. Ms. Dubois notices him and says, "Ooh, who's this little doll?" She sounds like a kid on Christmas.

"I'm Kurt," he says demurely, extending his hand.

She shakes it vigorously. "Pleased to meet you, hon. If you don't mind me saying, you have a _lovely_ aura."

He doesn't know how to respond to this and flounders for a few seconds before saying, "Thank you." His voice goes up at the end, making it sound like a question. I snort, and he glares at me.

"Well, since you two seem to have already gotten acquainted, Monsieur Blaine, please get a new stool for your new protégé and seat him next to your handsome self."

"But of course, mademoiselle," I say loftily. I take her hand and kiss the top of it.

"Oh, Blaine, you spoil me!" She simpers. "Now shoo! I need to go over your new project."

Kurt follows me to the back row of tables on the far right of the room—the tables are arranged in a semi-circle with Ms. Dubois' paint-splattered counter at the front—and stands awkwardly, feeling the weight of everyone's stares. I carry a stool over to him and twirl my hand toward it, trying to get him to relax. My looking ridiculous pays off, and he giggles.

"Alright, my lovelies, your topic for this marking period is—" she pauses dramatically and the class, minus Kurt, collectively drum rolls—"beauty!"

The girls titter excitedly, and the guys either look confused or groan. Kurt furrows his brows a bit and scrunches up his nose—which is adorable. _Oh, God, stop drooling! Where's your self-respect?_

"And, since it's the last marking period, I've decided to be nice and let you use whatever medium you see fit—whether it's watercolors, pastels, photography, sketching, oil paints, whatever your little hearts' desire. And your first task is to find beauty in nature—but it's not all fun; I also want a paragraph on _why_ it's beautiful. You know the drill: due in two weeks. I want the project overall to be about you finding what _you_ think is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen," she concludes dreamily. I find myself glancing at Kurt out of the corner of my eye and noticing things: his clear complexion, the intense blue of his eyes, the curve of his soft pink lips—

_Whoa, there, settle down. Don't think about his lips, how good they taste—_

"That was…interesting." Kurt's voice saves me from potential fantasies—which are embarrassing as all hell to have in class with the guy right next to you, let me tell ya.

"Yeah," I say gravelly. "Doobie knows how to handle us. Half the time I swear I'm not learning anything, but then I find myself really seeing things, you know?"

He smiles at me. "You seem to have acquired the coveted Artists' Eye. I myself possess it, and I can't wait to start this. I think this is my new favorite class."

And seeing him smiling, his eyes twinkling—not to mention his proximity—and the cute way he sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth when he's concentrating has me returning his sentiment.

* * *

So, once again...what do you think? Please tell me in a review :)


	4. Fighter

**3. Fighter**

The absolute worst part of the day is leaving Kurt at dismissal. We've exchanged numbers, and I plan on texting him like crazy, but having that awesome day with him and then finishing it off with my dad being home is _definitely_ not ideal.

I cling to the fact that an angel—_my_ angel—has agreed to go on a date with me—_He likes me, he actually likes me!_—before I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever my dad and his best friend Jack Daniels have in store for me.

My father—or as I prefer to think of him, Adam—surprisingly isn't drunk when I walk in the door. He has various documents for whatever he does at work spread out on the dining room table, and the house smells of coffee, which is wafting from a mug next to him, and his glasses perched on his nose. There's something else I can smell with the coffee, but I brush it off. _Probably just air freshener or something._

It's a complete 180 from Friday, and I stop in the doorway and stare.

He eyes me over the rim of his mug. "Will you shut the door? I'm not paying for air conditioning if you're just gonna waste money we don't have."

Typical Adam. "If we don't have the money, why are you using the air conditioning?" I probably shouldn't goad him, but assholes make assholes, right?

He glares at me. "Just shut the damn door. It's not that hard."

I slam it. "Happy now?"

He gives me a hard look and asks in an equally hard voice, "Very. How was school?"

"Fine." More like effing _awesome_. Suddenly, the fact that I'm with Adam doesn't matter—because I have a date with the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. _Can boys be beautiful? Oh well, he is._

"Just 'fine'?" Adam asks.

I shrug. No way am I telling him about Kurt. "Yeah. What's wrong with fine?"

"So nothing…interesting happened today?" There's something odd about his tone; it's almost like he's expecting something.

_You mean besides meeting the love of my life? Jeez, dude, pull yourself together!_ "No, everything was the same as always."

He scoffs. "Really? So you regularly cut three classes?" He's glaring at me now. Crap.

Now I know what that weird but somewhat familiar smell is. His coffee has a bit of a kick of Jack in it, and now I'm screwed.

"I had to help my f-friend." I stammer. Hopefully he doesn't set his buzzed paranoia on the fact that I stuttered at _that_ word.

"Friend, huh?" he sneers. "What's that Puckerman boy got you into now?"

"Noah didn't get me into anything. And he's not my only friend." _Oh, good job Blaine. The less he knows about Kurt, the better, remember? Keep him safe._

He gets up from his chair and makes his way over to me, and I instinctually step back. "Oh really? So you've managed to convince someone else that you're not some lying bastard?"

"You know, oddly enough, _you're_ the only one who thinks that. Guess it takes a bastard to know a bastard, right?" I know intentionally angering him when he's been drinking is a stupid idea, but maybe if he's focused on me he'll forget that snippet about Kurt.

"You little shit. If you're cutting classes to hang out with your friends, how're you gonna get enough credits to graduate and go to college?"

What? "You care if I go to college?" My voice is softer now, because of confusion. The back of my mind is telling me that he doesn't, he just wants me out of the house.

"If you're in college, you aren't here, and I don't have to waste any more money on you." Well, whaddaya know?

"Oh, yeah, wouldn't want to spend any money on unnecessary things, like _feeding your son_. You know what? It would be much easier if you stopped buying me food and just drowned yourself in alcohol. You'll die much earlier, and then you won't have to deal with me. I'm pretty sure I'll get a hefty life insurance check, too."

He laughs. "Do you honestly think I would give _any_ of my hard-earned money to _you_? Maybe your mother was stupid enough to do that, but I sure as hell won't."

Anger that I've been trying to control since my Kurt slip-up suddenly boils over at the mention of my mother. According to one of my father's drunken stories, it was just a one night stand after they'd had too much to drink—go figure. He'd never wanted me, or her. The only reason they'd gotten married was because both sets of my grandparents had run interference. Adam couldn't even bring himself to smile in the wedding photo. Actually, I'm pretty sure any of the pictures taken from the time they were married until now will have him either grimacing, frowning, or scowling. With a drink in his hand.

"Don't you talk about her," I warn menacingly.

My tone surprises him, but he plows on. "Aww, what's the matter? Little Blainey doesn't want to hear about what a slut that bitch was? She ever tell you she had to get a paternity test since she couldn't keep her whore legs closed?"

My fury makes me irrational, and I lunge at him. He wasn't expecting it, plus he's been drinking, so he goes down fairly easily. I've never been in an actual fight before, so I'm hitting blindly—but I don't care.

My fists pound fast and furious into anything I can reach—his sides, his chest, his cheeks, his nose. There's blood on my knuckles from his nose, and my hands are starting to throb. I make the mistake of slowing down, and that's when he strikes.

I was already perched precariously on top of him, so when he shoves me, I go flying. My head bangs on the leg of the dining room table, and I let out a gasp of pain.

Adam stands up, swaying a little, and wipes the blood from his face with his sleeve. Some of it got into his mouth, and I can see some of his teeth outlined in red. The fact that he's growling at me makes him look like a mad dog.

"Get up." He says it slowly and calmly, and it makes me freeze. No good ever comes from this tone. It's always the precursor.

My lack of response must annoy him, because he shouts, "Get up, you dumb shit!"

I want to get up slowly as a means of defiance, but I go back to the first time he hit me when I was eight, and I scramble up like a scared little kid. Despite the fear blooming in my chest, I stand tall with my chin up.

He steps forward, but his foot crunches on the glass from his mug. He glares at me. "Clean this up." When I don't move, he lashes out and hits me. "Clean it up! Now!" He shoves me toward the kitchen cabinet where we keep the cleaning supplies and stalks to the bathroom, muttering obscenities as he goes.

I ignore the stinging pain of the bruise I can feel blossoming on my cheek and set to work.

* * *

It's 10:00, and Adam has managed to work himself into a drunken stupor. I haven't seen him since our fight, and I'm planning on keeping it that way.

My phone chirps, signaling a text. _Angel_ appears on the screen, and I sit up, suddenly wired.

_Hey! Sorry I didn't text earlier, I've got A LOT of catching up to do :(_

I smile and start to type out a reply when my phone chirps again.

_You don't do that ridiculous "text talk" do you? Because I HATE that._

This time I laugh, and start over on my message.

_**I hate it too, though Noah insists on using it. It's soo annoying. Do you need any help with anything?**_

_No, I'm fine. But I think I could use your help with our Art project…I don't have a very good camera, do you have one I could borrow?_

_**Yeah, sure. I'll bring it to you tomorrow.**_

_Thanks _

_**You already found something to use?**_

_Not yet, but inspiration can strike at any time, right?_

I think about how perfect he is, and find myself itching to start drawing him for the finished product.

_**Right. How was your dad when you got home?**_

_Well, he inspected me himself—as if I would lie about making it through the day unscathed—and determined that I'm allowed to go back to school, but "if anything happens, I'm pulling you out."_

_**Nothing's gonna happen to you. I won't let it.**_

Maybe that was too much too soon, but the thought of someone hurting him makes anger surge through me, churning my insides.

_As much as my father will appreciate that sentiment, I'm sure I don't need your services as a bodyguard. Besides, you're bigger than me, but not big enough to take on those guys._

_**Noah would help.**_

_Well, as chivalrous as it is of you to volunteer his services, I won't need them. Now, tell me more about this date…_

My stomach flutters, and I think back on all the things I learned about romance from the movies my mom used to watch.

_**Well, I planned for it to be a dinner—I'll cook whatever you want—in the tree house that me, Noah, and Noah's dad built when we were kids. We could talk, go inside and watch a movie, whatever.**_

_Alright. When was this going to be?_

_**Could you be at my house on Saturday at 6?**_

_But it's only Monday! How am I supposed to wait until Saturday to go on a date with you?_

Okay, I have officially crossed into adolescent girl mode. I do my best to ignore the girlish squeals I'm doing in my head and reply to him.

_**Well, we do have lunch together. And homeroom. And English. And Art. We can definitely talk in school, if you want.**_

_Okay. I'd like that._

_**Me too :)**_

* * *

Going to school today isn't as bad as yesterday, but it still sucks. At least I have something to look forward to.

And sure enough, when I walk into homeroom—on time for once, and not just before the announcements—Kurt is sitting in Noah's desk and Noah is sitting on top of it. They're cracking up, which can only mean one thing: Noah is telling Kurt embarrassing stories about me.

"Whatever he told you isn't true," I say. They stop for a second, look at me, look at each other, and start laughing again. _So much for having an awesome day._ "Well, good morning to you, too. Traitors."

Noah's in danger of falling off of the desk, he's laughing so hard. I glare at him, but it doesn't affect him. Kurt has some manners, though, and stops, looking semi-apologetic.

"Sorry." He presses his lips tight together to stop any more giggles from escaping, but a few do.

"Yeah, whatever. What did he tell you? And I swear, if you start laughing again—"

"I won't, I won't! He told me about how you came out to him."

Oh dear God. It's worse than I thought. I round on Noah. "Why the hell would you do that?"

He shrugs. "Well, I figured it wouldn't be fair for you to just sweep him off his feet with dinner in the tree house; he should know what kind of idiocy he's signed up for."

I roll my eyes at him. I notice that Kurt is looking around the room nervously, and I scan the room too. Everyone's talking, and it's pretty loud; I doubt anyone will overhear us. I lean in and whisper into his ear, "Don't worry, no one will hear. Just relax." I sneak a short kiss to the shell of his ear before I pull away. He smiles at me, and I can see the gratitude in his eyes.

"You two are so cute," Noah gushes.

He laughs at Kurt's blush, and I remember what the plan was for today. "Hey, weren't we supposed to be having a mini-date right now?" I look pointedly at Noah, my eyes screaming _Leave now!_

He puts his hands up in an "I surrender" gesture and lopes over to a group of girls. He'll probably be "dating" one of them by second period.

I turn to Kurt, who looks nervous but excited. I spend the first few awkward seconds staring at him, but he interrupts me. "What's that on your face?" he asks.

I shrug, trying—once again—to appear cool and confident, even though on the inside, I'm freaking out.

_What if he finds out?_ "It's nothing," I say, hoping he'll drop it.

No such luck. "It looks like a bruise. Were you in a fight?" His eyes widen as a horrible thought occurs to him. "You didn't confront those football players, did you?"

What? "What? No."

He looks skeptical. "Uh huh. You don't have to get into fights for me, Blaine." He crosses his arms.

Oh crap. Are we about to have a fight? I didn't even do anything! Wait. This could work to my advantage: if he thinks I'm fighting with football players, he won't consider that it's my dad.

Why does that kind of disappoint me?

I decide to play along with his idea. "I just don't like the idea of them hurting you. Of anyone hurting you, really."

"Well, while your concern is sweet and appreciated, I don't need you openly causing conflict. I can take care of myself."

"No you can't."

He looks scandalized. "Really? How would you know?"

"Your dad wouldn't have reacted that way if there was no reason for him to. Something happened to you, at your old school. Somebody hurt you, and I'm not gonna let that happen here."

He's surprised by the sudden fierceness of my voice, but he keeps his tone. "I'll be fine. I don't need you fighting my battles for me."

"That's not what I'm trying to do; I'm trying to _prevent_ battles."

He puts his shoulders back and juts his chin out. "Fine. Then I'm doing the same with you."

"What?" _Please don't be saying what I think you're saying…_

"Well, if you can confront dangerous people on my behalf, I can do the same for you."

Images of him trying to fight Azimio and even my father flash behind my eyelids, and I will them away. "No," I say firmly.

His eyes narrow. "You don't make my decisions for me, Blaine. This relationship is going to be _equal_, not you swooping in to save me when I get a little scared. I'm going to save you, too." His voice has softened, and he looks so earnest that I'm having trouble figuring out how I'm going to get him to abandon this crazy—and dangerous—notion. Fortunately, the announcements start, and the conversation stops.

* * *

"So did you guys fuck yet?"

"Jesus, Noah, what the hell? You don't just _ask_ that!" He just shrugs, like he's not a pervert. "Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"I don't know how fast gay relationships go, and we've already established that the guy's got a good ass, plus you seem a shitload happier than you were this time yesterday."

He's right. I am happier, noticeably so. Dodgeball week in gym usually has me dragging my feet, but today I'm swift. "Well…we did kiss yesterday."

He stops mid-throw, drops the ball, grabs my arms, and walks us in front of some of the easier targets so we'll get out. Once we do, he drags me to the bleachers—away from everyone else, on the far side—and sits us down. "Spill," he demands.

I tell him about what happened on the way to Art, and he stares at me, dumbfounded. "So you guys are like, official?"

I shrug. "I don't really know. We haven't really gone on a real date or talked about being boyfriends…" I trail off. Are we boyfriends? How would we handle that _here_?

"You want some alone time at lunch to figure it out? I can make myself scarce. What happened to your face?"

"What?" I pretend not to know what he's talking about.

"You've got a bruise on your jaw," he points out.

I feel around, looking for said bruise, and wincing when I find it. "We are playing dodgeball, you know."

I can tell that he's unsure, but he just shrugs. "You want some ice for it?"

"Nah, it'll be fine."

"Alright. So do you want me to leave you guys at lunch?"

I nod, but then I think about Azimio, Karofsky, and their sycophants, and change my mind. "Stay close though. I don't want any trouble from You-Know-Who."

"Yeah, sure dude. You know I got your back." We bump fists as a sign of solidarity. Our gym teacher blows his whistle to signal the next round and we're back to being an unstoppable force.

* * *

At the end of fifth period I go back to the hallway I found Kurt in yesterday, hoping I'll get the chance to walk him to lunch. And maybe take a few detours and kiss again.

When I turn the final corner, I'm met with a sight that makes my blood run cold.

Karofsky and Azimio are in front of him, leaning in menacingly. I can't hear what they're saying over the din of everyone else, but his eyes are wide, and I can see his chest rising and falling rapidly. _Oh, God._

His terrified eyes find mine, and he shakes his head, telling me not to intervene.

_The hell I won't._

I know from experience that blind anger won't do much for you in a fight—especially two against one—but if I incorporate some of my dad's intimidation tactics, maybe it won't come to that.

Karofsky takes Kurt by his collar and slams him into the row of lockers he's pressed up against. I hear the gasp of pain this causes, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to run over and do the same to him.

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask quietly from behind them. _Don't yell or curse. The quiet calmness will be disconcerting._

"Oh hey fudge packer! How you doin'?" His tone is sneering, and he has one arm out next to Kurt's head—much too close for my liking. He's also conveniently blocking his exit.

"I'd be doing much better if you weren't manhandling my boyfriend. Now, if you would be so kind as to remove your arm and allow him to pass by, I think my good mood may be restored." I try not to think about the fact that I've just come out to the school's main homophobe. Or that I just outed Kurt. I say the last part looking hard at Kurt, hoping that the message is coming through my eyes loud and clear: _if you can get away, just go._ The way he starts frantically shaking his head tells me that he's received my message, but is choosing to ignore it.

Apparently, my outing has worked to my advantage, because Azimio and Karofsky have been rendered speechless. I take my chances and reach forward to grab Kurt's hand, trying to pull him away from them. Seeing our contact snaps them out of it, and Azimio pushes me into the space next to Kurt. I maneuver slightly so that I'm in front of him—not obviously so, but my right side is in front of his left. My right arm is draped across his body and holding his hand. I rub soothing circles to reassure him, and he squeezes in response.

Karofsky is glaring, and he opens his mouth to say something, but another voice interrupts him.

"Hey!" Before any of us knows what's going on, tiny and terrifying Santana Lopez from Art has stormed over, mouth set angrily and brown eyes blazing. She plants herself—all 5''4' of herself—in front of us, and I know nothing's going to happen. He wouldn't dare hit a girl, let alone one as tough as Santana. "What do you think you're doing?" My words sound much more impressive coming from her.

"None of your business," he answers shortly.

"You're in the hallway of a public school, what you do is anyone watching's business," she replies haughtily. "I think it would be in your best interests if you were to leave. _Now._" Did she just threaten him? I feel Kurt smile into my shoulder, and I know he's thinking the same thing.

They narrow their eyes at her, but retreat all the same. "We'll be back," Karofsky promises. My jaw clenches in response.

Santana stares them down until they turn the corner and then turns to us. "Are you guys okay?"

I'm about to respond when I realize I haven't yet relaxed my defensive pose. I turn around and put my hands gently on Kurt's cheeks. "Are you okay?" I ask. My eyes take in every inch of his body, checking for injuries. I run my fingers through his hair, trying to feel a bump or cut from when his head hit the locker. "Are you hurt?"

Kurt just laughs—how he can laugh at my panic is beyond me, especially with the situation we were just in—and pulls my hands away from him. "I'm fine. God, you're almost as bad as my father."

Santana laughs at that. "So you're good?" She really wants to make sure. I didn't know she could be this kind if she wasn't with her best friend Brittany.

"Yeah, we're fine. Thanks for stepping in, but we could have handled that."

She raises her eyebrows in disbelief at my assertion, but dismisses it. "Yeah, well, it was more fun to do it together," she says with a flick of her wrist. "You guys are gonna be okay, right?" The hall has mostly cleared out, except for a few stragglers, and she eyes them warily.

"We'll be fine," Kurt says with a smile. I squeeze his hand.

Her mouth tightens into a hard line before she says, "I'm gonna sit with you guys today. That okay?"

Kurt looks startled, but I shrug. "Sure. Let's go."

I start to walk, but Kurt pulls me back. "Wait."

He's chewing on his lip looking uneasy. "What's wrong?"

"I want to talk to you." And with that he tugs me further down the hall. Santana stands where we left her, watching and waiting.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Us."

How can that tiny word inspire so much fear? "What about 'us'?"

He looks me dead in the eye. "I want to walk into that cafeteria holding your hand. I might even kiss you at some point, so be prepared."

He's kind of thrown me for a loop, so I don't say anything for a few seconds. "Are—are you sure? I'm sorry about outing you to Fat and Fatter, I was upset—"

"This isn't about that. I appreciate that you care enough to rush into danger, but you seem to forget that I care too. So I'm doing this, okay?"

The determined look on his face tells me that it doesn't matter what I say; nothing's gonna change his mind. And it doesn't hurt that I'm getting a kiss out of this. "Alright. If this is what you want to do, then we'll do it."

He smiles and kisses me on the cheek. My bruise tingles, but in a good way. "Thank you."

When we get back to the end of the hall where we left Santana, Noah's there too, and he looks pissed. "Are you guys okay? You were late, and I needed my money, but then I saw that Dumbass and Fatass weren't there, and Santana just filled me in and now—"

"Calm down, man, we're fine," I interrupt.

He takes a deep breath and stares at us hard. "Positive?"

"We're okay, Noah. Really," Kurt cuts in. Noah has uncharacteristically concerned eyes when he looks at him, and I appreciate how easily he's accepted our relationship. Hell, he's _encouraged_ it.

"Well let's go then," Santana says impatiently. "I'm hungry, and it's Serve-Edible-Food Day."

Noah makes an eager noise and turns to me with puppy eyes. I roll my eyes and sigh. "Here's your money, you buffoon."

"Thanks, man, you're the best!" And with that, he runs off. I shake my head at his antics, and notice Santana looking after him curiously.

"See something you like?" I quip.

"Shut up."

Kurt intertwines our fingers and tugs me forward. "Come on."

Weighing the pros and cons of coming out this way seems like a good idea, so I consider: _You can hold his hand and kiss him in the hallway. You can say "That's my boyfriend" whenever you feel like showing him off._

But on the other hand…

_Not everyone will be accepting. Karofsky or Azimio or someone else could try to hurt you. Hurt __**him**__._

"If you don't want to be out, we don't have to do this." Kurt's voice breaks me out of my reverie. He looks worried about me, so my face must have betrayed my musings and misgivings.

"I'm fine with it," I assure him. "I just don't want you to get hurt. What happened today was just because they _suspected_ we were together. Giving everyone _proof_ could really backfire, and I want you to be okay."

He smiles a sad smile at me, and kisses my cheek again. The skin that his lips touched tingles, and I have to repress the shiver that wants to run down my spine. "You keep forgetting that I care too. If you'll be okay, I'll be okay."

I swallow the lump that has risen up my throat and nod. "I'll be fine."

He squeezes my hand and kisses me softly—on the lips this time. "Then let's do it."

Walking into the cafeteria is interesting. A lot of the conversation at tables we walk past becomes stilted, many jaws drop, and the majority of people are staring. My eyes are constantly scanning for a threat, ears trained for a slur, body tensed and ready to defend if necessary.

Only one table glares at us, and it's next to ours. We sit down, ignoring—or trying to—the silence that has fallen. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jump and turn around, ready for anything—but it's just Noah, smiling. He pulls me up and hugs me tight, then sits down next to Santana.

I have never been more grateful for him than I am right now.

The four of us fall into easy conversation, laughing at the expressions that are still on some people's faces. Kurt and I hold hands on top of the table. Occasionally he'll squeeze or stroke it; sometimes he'll just look at me with this little smile on his face. _Is that what I look like when I look at him?_

When we're in line for lunch, I put Kurt in front of me and put my hands on his waist so that his back is flush against my chest. I rest my chin on his shoulder and he giggles. "Never pegged you for a cuddle whore."

I laugh and wrap my arms around him. "You know you love it."

A few seconds pass, and he says quietly, "Yeah, I do."

"Hey," I whisper. He turns his head and looks at me with sorrow in his eyes. "Don't be sad, okay?" I kiss the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet. "I don't want you to be sad."

He turns around in my arms and puts his hands on my elbows. "You make me happy." He says it nervously, with his head down, like he's afraid of what I'm going to say.

I lift his chin up and look into his eyes. I'm drowning in the blue of them, and the rest of the world disappears. I say, "You make me happy, too," and kiss his forehead.

Unbeknownst to us, Santana and Noah have been watching our exchange, and at the kiss, Noah ushers us forward. "Come on, lovebirds, you're holding up the line!"

Santana snorts. "The Honeymoon Phase is bliss." Noah chuckles at her.

"Do you have money today, or are we sharing?" I ask into Kurt's neck.

"Well, since you have yet to let go of me, I doubt you'll be getting your own tray, so we'll just put two…what is it that you want?"

I consider our options: mozzarella sticks and marina sauce, a chicken patty, and rubbery-looking chicken with soggy vegetables.

"Let's get mozzarella sticks. It's the safest option."

He laughs.

I squeeze him slightly. "You're the best."

"Better than Noah?" he teases.

I scoff. "Oh, babe, you're _way_ better than that loser."

"Hey!" Noah has a scowl on his face.

"No offense, dude, but I'd not much rather date him than you. You're not my type."

He's mock-hurt, and his bottom lip quivers. "So all those special times in our tree house were just a lie?"

Kurt snickers, and I cringe. "He told you everything, didn't he?"

He nods eagerly. "Every last detail. You're never living that down."

I groan and bury my head in his shoulder. "I'm never leaving you two alone again. There's no telling _what_ you'll get up to."

They chuckle, and by this time we've made it to the end of the line. I pay for our mozzarella sticks and lemonades, and the cashier gives us a warm, crinkly-eyed smile. Kurt beams at her, and I nod.

Just as I'm thinking that we might actually make it through the day, there's a crowd of people at our table. I grip Kurt's wrist and try to steer him around it, ignoring them.

Before I can ask, Santana has answered. "These are some of my friends. They didn't want to eat without me, so they came over here. Is that okay?"

Kurt looks a bit uneasy, so Noah nudges him to take a step forward.

Brittany walks over to him and stares. "How do you get your skin so smooth?" she asks in wonderment. She reaches a hand out to touch his cheek, and he flinches away. She pulls back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

He takes a deep breath. "No it's fine." He tries to smile, but he still looks uncomfortable. "I have a very rigorous moisturizing routine that I adhere to daily. I won't get wrinkles until I'm at least 60."

Noah laughs, but Brittany looks excited. "Can you teach it to me?"

His smile is genuine now. "Sure. But it has to match your skin type, you can't use my stuff."

From that moment on, Kurt and Brittany are engrossed in their conversation, and there's no use trying to pull them out of it.

Lunch passes without the talk that I wanted to have with Kurt, but seeing how happy he is with the new friends he's made makes up for it. Plus Noah and Santana were totally flirting the whole time.

* * *

So I'll ask again: What did you think? I'd really like to know what all the people who are favorite-ing the story and putting it on their alerts like about it. And if there's something I could improve on, please tell me.


	5. Falling

Oh my god! I'm sorry this took so long! I wanted it to be perfect, and it just wasn't turning out the way I wanted it to. I'm sure it still isn't good, but I felt bad for keeping you waiting, so here it is!

* * *

**4. Falling**

"Do you have your camera with you?" Kurt and I are on our way to English. We aren't holding hands, but our shoulders brush with every step, which is still okay, I guess.

"Yeah, I brought it for you. Why?"

"Because I want to start looking for pictures of beautiful nature. Would you care to join me on a little stroll after school?"

I smile at him. "I would love to stroll with you."

"Good, because I don't know any good places to find…anything," he laughs

"Well, there's a park that's in the center of town. You can get there from pretty much anywhere. You want to try it?"

He smiles. "Sure."

"Awesome."

We walk slowly and silently after that. The silence starts out comfortable, but soon whispers and sniggers begin to penetrate it. I try to ignore it, but with every glare aimed at us, Kurt shrinks a little. He's biting his lip, and I know he's uncomfortable. _What should I do?_

I'm wondering whether or not grabbing his hand would better or worsen the situation when someone slams into me. I tumble into Kurt, who yelps and falls to the floor.

I turn to whoever pushed me and see one of the idiot hockey players laughing with his buddies down the hall. He tries to compose himself when he sees me glaring, but doesn't succeed. His hasty, "Sorry, man," seems a bit less than the sincerity I was looking for.

My jaw clenches and I step toward him, glaring, when Kurt grabs my hand from his position on the floor. He squeezes tightly, trying to hold me there.

The hockey player is no longer laughing; his eyes are challenging, daring me to do something. His mouth is set in a smirk, and I long to wipe it off his face.

"Well?" he asks, eyebrows raised. "You just gonna stand there and take it, Anderson? I bet your boy there is real good at taking it, isn't he?" He leers at Kurt, who has since pulled himself up. "You love it, don't you? Bending over and taking it. Disgusting faggots."

I feel rather than see Kurt flinch at the word, and I'm pretty sure I'm crushing his hand now with the effort of not lunging and attacking the hockey player. "You seem to have given it a lot of thought. Are you sure you don't play for our team?" I'm fighting to keep my voice even.

He sneers. "I'm not no queer."

"Oh, I don't know about that. What with the way you were just pressed up against me and everything. Not to mention your double negative."

"What?"

The bell rings, and Kurt tugs my arm a little, telling me we need to go. "Well, as much as I would like to continue this conversation, I'm gonna have to cut it short. Sorry."

His eyes are hard. "Oh, don't worry about it. We'll _definitely _continue it soon." There's a warning in his tone, and his departure seems to rouse the onlookers from their bloodlust-induced trance.

I watch him until he turns the corner, acutely aware of Kurt's trembling hand in mine. I turn to him. "Are you okay?" I ask softly.

His breathing is a little labored, but he still says that he's fine.

"Are you sure? Do you want to go to the nurse again?"

"No, really, I'm fine. It just…brought back some unpleasant memories, that's all."

I rub my thumb across the back of his hand. "Memories of your old school?"

He nods and closes his eyes, wincing.

"We don't have to go to class, you know. We can leave now to go to the park and get your pictures, if you want."

He brings his other hand up and pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, that's fine. Besides, we need to go to class."

I shrug. "Whatever you want to do."

He bites his lip, pondering. After a few seconds, he has a fire in his eyes that sets his whole face ablaze. "It's going to take a lot more than that to drive me out."

And with that, he drags me to English.

* * *

The park that I told Kurt about is practically the center of our small town; nearly all the roads either go past it or lead straight to it. Walking from the school to the park is a straight shot. We set our bags down on a wooden bench and try to find something decent to use for our project.

Kurt seems to be drawn to one tree in particular. Its branches are bare and thin, as if it hasn't been able to grow anything for a while.

"I didn't realize you were such a fan of dead trees," I quip. I can sense that there's something serious settling into the air around him, and I want to diffuse it before it completely consumes him.

He takes a seemingly involuntary step towards it, hefting the camera up as he does it. "It's...haunting," he says quietly. "It's almost like a symbol."

"A symbol of what?"

He turns to me, and I can feel the serious thing again, emanating from him. "That even the most vibrant things dull out." He turns back to the tree and takes three pictures. Steps to the side. Takes three pictures. He repeats this process until he's circled the entire tree, and then comes back to me. "What do you think?" he asks, holding the camera out to me. I go to the stored pictures and examine each of them.

"I'm not seeing the 'haunting' aspect, babe," I say. He smiles a little at "babe" but otherwise remains stoic. "I think it would get the point across better if you took it in the negative setting."

He nods and fiddles with the camera, then starts the whole process over again.

Watching how carefully he scrutinizes each spot before taking the picture makes me think that this is somehow cathartic for him. _Maybe we'll make excursions like this more often, then. It seems to help him._

"Are you ready, Kurt?" I call out.

He's still staring at the tree. "Yeah," he answers reluctantly. "How do I get home from here?"

I chuckle. "Don't worry, I'll get you there." I grab his hand and lead him down the road. When we're about halfway there, we begin to encounter some more of Lima's citizens, and it's clear from the looks on their faces that they aren't exactly thrilled at our closeness. Kurt seems to shrink under their stares. I drop his hand, but he grabs it back even tighter.

"No," he says firmly. "I'm not going to let them determine how affectionate I am with my boyfriend. That's for me and you to decide."

_Oh my God, he said "boyfriend" and "you" in the same sentence! Swoon!_

Despite the teenage girl threatening to burst out at the seams right now, I keep my composure. "Alright. Sounds good to me. But are you sure?"

He smiles. "Yes. I am absolutely, 100% sure."

I smile. "Good. Because so am I."

* * *

"So this is your house?" I say as we start up his driveway. It's a quaint white house with red shutters, nothing really showy about it. It seems really homey, like a family lives there. Not like the empty shell I live in.

"Yeah. What were you expecting?" he asks as he fumbles with his ring of keys.

I shrug. "I don't know. So, where's your dad?" I ask, nodding toward the empty driveway.

"Probably still at the shop, finishing paperwork or something," he says noncommittally. "Aha!" he exclaims, finally finding the right one. He pushes the door open and we walk into the living room.

There are still some boxes around, one marked _Pictures, __Pots, Pans, Bowls, _and _Tupperware._ "How long have you guys been here?" I ask, running my thumb over the flap of the _Pictures_ box.

"Um, about a week, I think." He's rummaging through the _Bowls _box. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"No, I'm fine. What are you getting?"

He shrugs. "Nothing special. Just a little fruit salad. I have one every day after school."

"Really? Seems like a weird tradition. How did that start?"

His grip on the bowl in his hands tightens, and I know that I've said something that touches a sore spot. "My mom used to have one ready for me when I was younger. She'd cut up a yellow apple into cubes and get scoops of cantaloupe and fat squares of watermelon and put them in this bowl-" he holds up the white porcelain bowl with pink flowers bordering it "-for me to eat when I got home."

_Why doesn't she do it for you now?_ But then I remember that he's only ever mentioned his father, and I hold the question in.

He sighs and looks up at me. "If you don't want anything, feel free to explore while I make it."

"Where's your room? I'm kind of looking forward to seeing your secret sanctum." He snorts, and I cringe.

"Aside from the fact that that sounded vaguely dirty, it's in the basement." He points through the kitchen to a door. "Don't touch anything, though, it's still not the way I want it."

I head towards the stairs but turn around when I open the door. He's moving fluidly across the kitchen, as if he's already made himself a home here.

I take this opportunity to admire how graceful he is, even when he's doing something as simple as opening a cabinet. He stands at the counter, humming to himself and tapping his foot to a song a don't know. I catch a snippet of it as he begins to sing under his breath, more mumbling than anything. _Sometimes I wish for falling, wish for the release, wish for falling through the air to give me some relief. Because falling's not the problem, when I'm falling I'm at peace. It's only when I hit the ground it causes all the grief._

I smile and head down the stairs.

Kurt's room is...understated, but loud at the same time, if that's possible. The walls are grey, but filled with colorful posters of Wicked and Lady Gaga. He has a vanity table in the far corner with every space filled by some kind of anti-aging cream or moisturizer. The furniture seems a bit plainer than what I would have expected from him, but that's fine.

There's a DVD shelf against the wall next to his television, and I peruse it, looking for familiar titles. _He sure has a lot of musicals..._ I recognize _The Sound of Music_ and _The Wizard of Oz_ from my childhood; everything else is foreign to me.

"See anything you like?" Kurt asks as he comes down the stairs with his fruit bowl.

I smile at him. "I do now." _Flirting's not that hard. All I have to do is give him cheeky compliments to make him blush. _

_Flirting is fun._

Sure enough, he does blush. "Is there a movie you wanted to watch?" he clarifies.

I do another quick scan. "Umm...how about _The Phantom of the Opera_? I've never seen that one before. Is it good?"

Kurt looks as if I have just told him the sky is orange. "You've never seen _Phantom_?" he splutters.

I shake my head.

"Well then we have to watch it, right now! Have you been living under a rock your entire life?" He continues grumbling under his breath-something about "uncultured swine"-while he sets the movie up.

He grabs his bowl and sits back against his pillow-cushioned headboard. "Prepare to be amazed."

I settle into the pillows next to him. Our arms are touching, and I can feel the heat radiating off of him. _So warm...I wonder what it would be like if I just put my arm around him right now. Would it be awkward, or would he like it?_ I decide to just go for it, and I do something that I swore I would never do on a date, under any circumstances.

A conversation with Noah pops into my head. _It's a corny move that desperate guys use to try to cop a feel. Yeah, I do it all the time. So what?_

Kurt snorts and looks up at me. "Did you really just pretend to yawn and stretch so you could put your arm around me?"

I scoff. "No. That would be totally lame, which, contrary to popular belief, I am not."

He smiles. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

I open my mouth to retort, but he shushes me. "This is my favorite part!"

I quiet down and try to pay attention, but I've got a beautiful boy in my arms; how often does _that_ happen?_  
_

I spend the more of the movie watching him than the actual film-how bright his eyes are, how cute his smile is when he shows his teeth, how crinkly his eyes get when he laughs. Since I've been watching him, I'm not surprised when his head drops down to my shoulder, sleeping. _He's adorable._

Kurt's asleep, so it wouldn't really matter if I got more comfortable, would it? I lay down carefully, so I don't jostle him. I let the last words of the song wash over me as a lullaby as I drift off. _Love me, that's all I ask of you._

* * *

A series of loud thumps wake me up some time later, and I look up into the shocked-and quickly morphing into angry-face of Burt Hummel.

_Oh, crap._

* * *

So what do you think? It's not too horrible, is it? Please tell me in a review :)


	6. Drowning Man

Sorry this took so long! I had some pretty bad writer's block, and this chapter just wasn't turning out the way I wanted it to. It still isn't quite the way I imagined it, but it's better than nothing, right?

This one's pretty short , but I hope you don't hate it too much!

* * *

**5. Drowning Man**

Mr. Hummel's nostrils are flaring, and I can tell that it's taking a lot for him not to yell at me. Kurt is still asleep, his head on my chest, a little pool of drool on my shirt. Normally I would have laughed, but I don't think Mr. Hummel would appreciate that very much.

His jaw is clenched, and his words are said through his teeth because of the effort it takes to speak calmly. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

_Okay, Blaine, just stay cool. It's not like you guys were doing anything._ Kurt chooses this moment to shift, and ends up with his head closer to my neck and his left leg in between mine. I can feel his breath brush across my jaw every time he exhales, and that plus his leg equals mortification.

I think Mr. Hummel guesses from the way I'm squirming that a _hard_ to explain situation is about to happen, so he claps his hands and says loudly, "Kurt! Wake up!"

Kurt jolts, and his leg rubs me. I bite my lip to hold back a moan and try to control myself.

"What—Dad? Why are you home so early?" Kurt asks sleepily. He hasn't moved, and his leg is still pressing against me. _Oh God, please move, please. I am doing everything I can not to pop a boner, and you are NOT helping._ He thankfully sits back, rubbing his eyes (adorably), seemingly oblivious to what could have been one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

"I don't think that you're the one that should be asking questions here, Kurt," Mr. Hummel says sternly. "But since you asked, I'll answer: I can come home early if I want to, without clearing it with you first, because I am the parent, and you are the child. That being said, you mind explaining to me why there's a boy in your room with the door closed, in your _bed_ with no one home, and why you two were _sleeping?_"

Kurt flounders for an answer, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Mr. Hummel taps his foot impatiently on the floor and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "I'm _waiting._"

Kurt looks at me as if I should be the one answering his father, but Mr. Hummel's glaring at me, so I don't know which Hummel I should listen to.

_Kurt._

"Well, Mr. Hummel, sir-"

He puts a hand up to silence me. "I wasn't asking you, kid," he says shortly.

Well so much for that idea. Kurt's on his own for this one.

"We-we were watching _Phantom_ and we fell asleep," he says quietly.

"Why was he here in the first place, Kurt? You know the rules." Mr. Hummel's eyes are hard when he looks at me.

"He was showing me around town. He took me to the park so that I could get a picture for that art project I told you about. Nothing happened, Dad. Blaine was just being helpful."

Mr. Hummel is silent for a long time, considering Kurt's side of things. Finally, he looks up. "Would you like to stay for dinner, Blaine?"

Kurt and I exchange confused looks. "Dinner?" he asks.

Mr. Hummel shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah. It's kinda late, you guys must be hungry. How about some pizza?"

I glance at the clock on Kurt's nightstand. _Oh no, it's 6:17 already? Adam's gonna kill me!_

"Actually, I have to get home now. My dad's probably worried about me." _Yeah right._

"Well, where do you live? I'll drive you," Mr. Hummel offers.

"Oh, no, it's fine, I can walk." _Please don't come to my house._

Kurt jumps in. "No, you're not walking home, Blaine. It's dark, and you'll be alone. Someone might..." he trails off and wraps his arms around himself, like he's holding himself together. Mr. Hummel goes over to him and puts his hand on his shoulder to comfort him. He murmurs a few words to him and Kurt nods, mouthing _I'm fine._ Mr. Hummel pats his shoulder and rubs his hand over it back and forth. "Please let us take you home Blaine," Kurt entreats again.

I bite my lip, considering. _He doesn't have to come inside with you. Adam will never see him. It'll be fine._ "Okay."

* * *

"Well, this is it," I say when Mr. Hummel pulls up in front of my house. "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hummel." I get out of the car, but Mr. Hummel calls me over to his window.

"You can call me Burt, kid. Mr. Hummel's my father, and he's not a very nice man. Just call me Burt."

"Okay. Well, thanks, Burt." _Did we just, like, bond for a millisecond? Is that what that was?_ "I'll see you in school, Kurt."

My foot is barely on the curb before I hear a door open and close. I turn around, and Kurt's behind me. "Would it be okay if I walked you to your door?" He's toeing the ground nervously, and as much as I know I should say no, I can't refuse him when he's being like this.

"Of course you can." I try to smile, but I think it comes out more like a wince. Kurt doesn't notice; he smiles brightly and grabs my hand.

My trepidation grows with each step closer to the front door, and dozens of possible scenarios are running through my head, each one worse than the last. By the time we reach the porch, I'm considering that my father has somehow procured a shotgun and is going to take Kurt hostage.

We stop in front of the door and turn to face each other awkwardly, neither one of us sure of what we're supposed to do next. Kurt finally breaks the silence. "I had a really nice time with you today, even if we did fall asleep," he says softly.

This time, I really smile. "I had a nice time too. But...is your dad always going to be like that?"

He chuckles. "Maybe. He's never really considered the possibility of me dating before, so it's all new to him. How are your parents dealing with it?"

"Uh-well, my dad...he's not exactly-"

The door opens suddenly, and he's there, his beady eyes bloodshot and angry, trained on me. "Where the hell have you been?" he hisses venomously. I drop Kurt's hand immediately. I open my mouth to answer him, but nothing comes out. "Get in here." He grabs my arm and yanks me over the threshold. I trip and stumble, and he lets go.

I look back to see Kurt standing there, bewildered. "I'll see you tomorrow," I say quietly. I'm closing the door when he seems to come back to himself. "Wait, Blaine-" I shut the door and lock it. I don't want him to see this.

* * *

I don't go to school the next day. Or the day after that. My phone is filled with texts from Kurt and Noah, asking where I am and if I'm okay, but I can barely find the energy to open them, let alone reply.

I don't know where Adam is.

He left yesterday morning, and I haven't seen him since.

Maybe he left me here to die.

I haven't moved. I'm just laying on my bedroom floor, counting the cracks on the ceiling. It's all I can do. My stomach growls occasionally, but I ignore it.

I just sleep.

* * *

The next time I wake up, there are frantic shouts and bangs coming from downstairs. I can distinguish Noah and Kurt's voices, calling me desperately. I want to answer the door, but my chest burns. The noise stops for a minute, and then I hear taps on my window. _Tap...tap...tap...tap._ I realize idly that someone is throwing stones at it. After another minute of that, I hear leaves rustle. I incline my head, trying to see what's going on, but the room starts spinning and my vision is swimming. I whimper at the sudden ache. The branches of the tree outside my window are moving. Someone must be climbing the tree. A minute after I realize that, I see Noah's horrified face. I hear him yell, "Call 911!"_  
_

My head is killing me. _I'll just take a little nap, then._

* * *

When I wake up again, Kurt is holding my hand and crying.


	7. Fix You

Hey! Sorry it took so long. I wanted to be faster, but I also wanted it to be perfect, hence the long wait. On the upside, I _think_ this is my longest chapter yet, so yay! I hope everyone likes it. Don't forget to review and tell me so!

Oh, I think I should give some warnings for this one: Blaine will be giving some detailed stories about his past with his father, so if **child abuse** or any kind of violence will trigger you in some way, be warned. Also, there is some unsavory language (courtesy of Blaine's father) in this chapter, so if **homophobic language** upsets you, I apologize.

* * *

**6. Fix You**

I'm in a bed, not on my bedroom floor. This bed isn't my bed. The mattress is lumpy and the blankets are scratchy and there's this annoying as hell beeping noise and everything smells weird. Except there's one thing that smells like flowers or something like that and _where have I smelled that before?_

Kurt.

Kurt's here. _Open your eyes._

Kurt's crying. _Open your eyes._

Kurt whispers that he's sorry, that it's his fault. I barely hear Kurt whimper "Please" before I start to feel something wet seeping into the coarse wool of my blanket and oh God, those are _tears_ because Kurt's _crying_ and _open your damn eyes, Anderson—_

"Please open your eyes, Blaine. Please. I can't—" His voice breaks and he cuts himself off. I can't deny him—or myself—any longer, not when he's begging like that.

I open my eyes slowly. My vision is blurry and everything is distorted, but I see Kurt, feel him grab my hand, hear his breath hitch, and now he's smiling.

God, he's beautiful.

"Who's beautiful?" he asks, confused.

Oh. I guess I said that out loud. "You, silly." I say.

He smiles sadly, eyes downcast. "Hey," I whisper. "Don't be sad, okay? Everything's gonna be fine, alright?"

He looks more upset that I'm trying to reassure him. "No, it's not going to be fine! Your dad…Blaine, what happened after you closed the door on me?"

Crap. This was exactly what I didn't want to happen. I try to take a deep breath, but there's a burning in my chest and a stinging in my side—probably have a couple cracked ribs—that prevents me from doing it, so I just blow out what little air I managed to take in with a huff.

_Well, there's no use lying now. You might as well just tell him everything._

Oh boy.

I open my mouth to begin my sordid tale, but am interrupted by a tentative knock.

"Hey, Snowflake," Noah says as he swaggers in, handing Kurt a cup of coffee. His formerly morose eyes brighten when he sees that I'm awake. "Blaine! Oh thank God!" He puts down his cup and makes to hug me, but remembers the condition I'm in and refrains.

"Hey, Noah. Since when is Kurt 'Snowflake?'" I ask.

"Since he needed a nickname and you're already calling him Angel when you daydream about him," he sniggers. I stick my tongue out at him.

Kurt smiles good-naturedly, but he's still upset. He opens his mouth to say something, but there's another knock at the doorframe.

Burt walks in and stands next to the chair Kurt's sitting in at my bedside. "How you feelin', bud?"

I shrug my shoulders and wince. "I've been better. It's never been this bad before."

"This has happened before?" Noah asks, eyes flashing. I nod somberly. "Dude, we've been best friends since sixth grade! How could you not tell me? I could have helped you; my family would have helped you!"

"Oh, come on, Noah. Do you really think your God-fearing parents would have let me stay at their house, in their only son's room? They wouldn't want to chance me ruining him, right?" I say bitterly.

"What are you talking about? They love you! They love having you over, why would you think that?"

"That's what Mike's dad did. After I told you, Finn, and Mike, I suddenly was no longer welcome in the Chang household."

A thick silence spreads across the room. Kurt's gnawing on his lip, Burt's eyes are stormy, and Noah stares at me in disbelief. "You never noticed that I always had to do chores whenever everyone went to Mike's house? And why did you think Finn didn't want to hang out anymore?" I ask him quietly.

"I…Blaine, I'm so sorry. I never even thought…I'm sorry, man."

I nod. "I know. Mike was sorry, too. He used to bring moon cakes for me in his lunch from his mom. He still gives me some on my birthday."

Noah smiles. "Yeah, you were always her favorite."

We're interrupted again by the appearance of a doctor. She's pretty, I guess. For a girl. If you're into that sorta thing.

She smiles at me, and I can tell that she blips on Noah's radar from the way he's looking at her. I glare at him when she looks at the chart in her hands and he shrugs.

"Hello, Blaine, I'm Dr. Mitchell. How are you feeling?" she asks kindly.

"I've been better," I say evasively.

She nods. "Well according to the fading bruises and old sprains we found, it's surprising you haven't had worse sooner."

I shift uncomfortably at her words. "I don't want to talk about this."

She smiles sadly and nods. "I know. But you have to. The police are here. They want to know if you can physically handle an interview now. Is there any tightness in your chest?"

"No."

She scribbles on her chart. "Does it hurt to breathe?"

"No, only when I try to take deep breaths."

She scribbles again and grabs her stethoscope. "Alright, I'm going to listen to you breathe now, okay?" I nod and she gently places the bell on my chest. "Breathe as deeply as you can without it hurting three times," she instructs. I do, and she moves it to various places before repeating the process on my back. When she's satisfied with those results, she puts her hands on my sides and presses. "Does this hurt?"

"No."

She digs her fingers in a bit more. "No. It's uncomfortable, but it doesn't hurt."

She nods and puts more pressure on me. "How about now?"

"Yeah, it stings." She lets up immediately. "Does your head hurt at all?"

"No."

She brings up her little light thing to look into my eye (does anyone know what that's called?) and takes a few seconds examining my right eye, then my left. When she's finished, she makes more notes on her clipboard.

"Do you hurt anywhere that I didn't already check?"

"No."

She scribbles again. "Alright, I'll send the police in now. Let me know if anything changes, okay sweetie?"

I nod.

She smiles again and walks out.

Kurt grabs my hand. His eyes are glassy and red rimmed, but he still smiles at me.

"If you want us to leave while you talk to the police, we will, Blaine," Burt says. Kurt looks like he might protest if it comes to it.

"No, I want you to stay."

He nods, and the police walk in. They aren't wearing standard uniforms, and my years of watching _Law and Order_ lead me to believe that they're detectives. The woman has a kind air about her, but the man makes a face at our joined hands. I decide I don't like him.

Noah and Burt see this, and they move to the right side of my bed rather than stand at the end of it. Kurt is still watching me from his perch on the left side, but the male detective approaches him. "Hey, you mind if I sit? I've had a long day."

Kurt moves to stand and let go of my hand, but I clutch it tighter. "No. Sit with me," I implore. I move over slowly and he sits next to me, albeit hesitantly. I wrap my arm around his waist and grab the hand he has resting on his thigh. He blushes at the contact and bites his lip. I can tell he's nervous about PDA in front of everyone, but I really want to stick it to this cop, so I kiss his shoulder to comfort him (and make the cop squirm).

It works for both intended purposes; Kurt smiles and the cop winces.

"Hello, Blaine," the woman says. "I'm Detective Rosen and this is my partner, Detective Sickle." She pauses, waiting for a response, but I don't give her one. "Do you think you could tell us about what happened last week? Your friends found you on Saturday, and they said you hadn't been at school for two days. Did this happen Wednesday night?" she asks kindly.

My throat is dry, so I just nod.

She writes on her little notepad and Det. Sickle takes over. "We have a statement from your friend Kurt—"

"Boyfriend," Noah corrects.

Sickle's eyes flicker to Noah. "I'm sorry?" he asks.

"Kurt's his boyfriend. In case you couldn't tell from the way they're acting. For a detective, you're really not all that observant," he sneers.

Burt chuckles but covers it up with a cough and tries to give Noah a reproachful look. Kurt smiles appreciatively and Noah gives him his signature self-satisfied smirk to say "You're welcome."

Sickle clenches his jaw at the affront and starts over. "We have a statement from your _boyfriend_ that he and his father brought you home at around 6:30 on Wednesday night. He said he walked you to your door, your father answered it angrily, and pulled you inside." He looks up at me and I nod in confirmation. "He said that he tried to get you not to close the door, but you did anyway, and that you locked him out." I nod. "He also said that he banged on the door a few more times and called you, but you didn't answer."

"I didn't know about that. It started as soon as I closed the door, I didn't hear him."

"Alright. Can you describe for us in detail what happened after you closed the door on Kurt?" Rosen asks gently.

I close my eyes, trying not to let the sudden onslaught of memories overwhelm me. I swallow the lump in my throat and speak.

* * *

"_Who the fuck was that twink? Why the hell were you hanging out with him?" Adam was shouting as soon as the lock clicked. I clenched my teeth and tried to ignore him, but it was harder than I thought it would be. "And don't think I didn't see you holding hands with that little bitch. Who was he? Was he your boyfriend, you sick sac of shit? He looks like a little girl, does he even have a dick?"_

_I walked through the house, trying to find something to distract me enough to drown out the venom he was spitting, but it wasn't working. He followed me wherever I went, screaming in my ear. His words reverberated in my head, bouncing around until all I could think about was how much I wanted him to just "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"_

_Adam was shocked into silence for a few blessed seconds, but then he was furious. "Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to me like that? You'd better start showing me some respect, boy, or—"_

_I laughed derisively. "Respect? You want my respect, Adam? How about you try earning it? Did that ever cross your mind, or were you too busy thinking about booze and surfing porn?"_

"_You little shit!" He punctuated the insult with a hard smack to my cheek. I brought my hand to it, trying to quell the stinging. "And don't think there isn't more where that came from, for you or your little fuck toy. If I ever see that fucking little faggot here again—"_

_I lunged at him, enraged. "Don't you EVER talk about him like that!" I roared. "He is a far braver, kinder, and better man than you could ever hope to be! You should be the one showing him some respect!"_

"_I'll respect that cocksucker after he gets off his knees long enough to do the right thing."_

_I was seething, but I still had to know. "What's the right thing?" I asked through gritted teeth._

"_He should kill himself. All faggots need to fucking die."_

_I lost it._

* * *

"There was no more talking after that, just punching, kicking, stomping, clawing, biting, slamming, and spitting. I tried to give as good as I got, but I guess I didn't do a very good job."

Everyone is silent. Noah looks horrified, Burt looks as angry as my dad was, and Kurt is shaking. His eyes are closed and I can see tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Kurt, are you okay?" I ask quietly.

He opens his eyes. "What?"

"Are you okay?" I squeeze his hand, trying to comfort him.

"Why are you asking me if I'm okay? After everything that he did, why are you worrying about me?"

"Because you're crying, babe," I say softly.

That only makes him cry harder. "Of course I'm crying, he—you almost—he could've—"

I pull him down to my chest. He burrows there, sobbing. I cradle him in my arms, trying to soothe him with gentle strokes down his back and through his hair. He clings tight to me, as if he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Everything will be okay. I'm not hurt too bad, you didn't get hurt, everything is fine, alright? Shh, it's okay."

While I try to calm Kurt down, the officer turns to Burt. "Did you see Mr. Anderson get pulled into his house?"

Burt doesn't notice that she's talking to him at first, and it takes him a few seconds to tear his eyes away from me attempting to console his bawling son. "What?"

"Did you see Mr. Anderson get pulled into his house?" she repeats.

He closes his eyes. "Yeah, I did."

"What did you make of it?"

"I thought…it didn't sit right with me. I didn't want to leave Blaine there alone, but I didn't want Kurt to be there. As much as I hated to do it, Kurt is my first priority. I had to get him home."

I can see how it's been eating away at him, so I try to soothe his guilt. "You did the right thing, Burt. I didn't want Kurt there either."

Kurt sits up, pulling his face away from my tear-soaked hospital gown. "Why not? I could have helped you. Why did you close the door on me?"

I hold his face between my hands and look him in the eye. "I told you the first day I met you that I wouldn't let anyone hurt you. That hasn't changed."

His eyes flash an angry electric blue, and he jerks his head from my hands. "You don't have to protect me all the time. I could have protected you!"

"This has been happening for eight years, Kurt. I know what he's capable of, I know what to do. You don't."

"He's been beating you for eight years?" Noah asks, bewildered. "How do you beat a little kid?"

"He didn't beat me the first time," I say flatly. I try not to remember that night, but occasionally, it crops up.

* * *

_There was a thunderstorm outside. I was scared of thunderstorms. Mama knew that, but Mama left last month. She hasn't come back yet. Mama knew what to do when there was a thunderstorm. Maybe she told Daddy that I like to be read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when I'm scared and that hot chocolate helps me sleep and that I don't have nightmares if she sprays a bit of her perfume around my pillow._

_I push open the door to their bedroom. Another boom of thunder makes the house quake and I squeal, clutching my teddy bear to my chest. "D-Daddy?" I stutter. "Daddy, I'm scared."_

_He rolled to his side and opened his beady eyes. He'd been drinking earlier and I was used to the bottle that gave Daddy bad breath and made his eyes red and made him super grouchy in the morning. I was more scared of the storm than I was of him, so I walked over to his bed._

"_Daddy, will you read Harry Potter with me?"_

_He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What? You woke me up to read that stupid book to you? You learned how to read two years ago, do it yourself."_

_Lightning flashes across the sky. "But Daddy, I'm scared."_

_He rolled his eyes. "I have to go to work in the morning, Blaine. I need to sleep. Just read it yourself."_

_I bit my lip. I remembered what happened whenever Daddy got mad at Mama, so I didn't ask him again._

_Instead, I went to the kitchen to make myself some hot chocolate._

_I grabbed a chair and pushed it up against the counter so I could reach the proper ingredients in the cabinets. Once I got them all, I moved the chair so I could get the special cup Mama always made my cocoa in. it was still pretty high up, even with the chair. I stood on my tippy-toes and just managed to wiggle it with my finger. I stretched a bit farther and—_

_BOOM!_

_The thunder startled me so much that I jumped, and since I was already perched on the edge of the chair, I tumbled over, landing awkwardly and hurting my elbow._

_My special cup shattered._

"_Daddy!" I called. Daddy will fix it. Daddy will know what to do._

_He thundered down the stairs, almost as loud as the storm outside. He turned on the light and looked down at me. "Blaine, what the hell are you doing, you made such a mess!"_

"_I just wanted some cocoa," I whimpered. "Mama always makes me cocoa."_

_He talks while he puts away everything. "Well Mama isn't here anymore. She didn't want to keep making you cocoa, so she left. It's because you do stupid shit like this, Blaine. She couldn't stand having to clean up after you all the time, so she left."_

"_What? Mama left because of me?" But Mama said she loved me. Did Mama lie?_

"_Oh, for the love of—will you stop whining and go to bed? Before you make more of a mess?"_

_I tried to push myself up, but my elbow screamed in protest at the movement. "Daddy, my arm hurts. Can you—"_

_He slammed his hands down on the counter in exasperation. "Dammit, Blaine! Just do what I fucking tell you to do!"_

_He grabbed me up and walked me to my room. He threw me onto my bed, and I landed on my already hurt arm. I cried out in pain._

"_Will you stop your fucking crying? Goddamn, you're such a whiny brat! No wonder your mom left you!"_

"_But Daddy—"_

_CRACK!_

_Except this time, it wasn't the thunder._

"_Just go the fuck to sleep!"_

_He walked out and slammed the door behind him._

_I lay there, shaking, terrified to move, afraid he would somehow know if I did and come punish me for it. My cheek was stinging, worse than when a bee stung my palm last summer._

_When the bee stung me, Mama made it feel better._

_I want Mama._

_I want my teddy bear._

_I want my hot chocolate._

_I want my special cup._

_I want Mama._

* * *

It's silent once again. No one knows what to say.

Rosen and Sickle exchange meaningful looks. "We'll contact you if we need any more information from you, Mr. Anderson," Rosen says. Sickle gives an awkward half-smile, and then they leave.

Noah looks gobsmacked. Kurt is still stunned and stares off into the distance. Burt is pinching the bridge of his nose.

Dr. Mitchell walks in again, but her steps slow once the tension in the room registers with her. "Is everything alright, guys?" she asks uncertainly.

"Yeah, everything's fine. When can I get out of here?" I ask.

"In a couple days. I want to monitor your breathing a bit more closely, just to be sure everything's working the way it should. When you're discharged, are there any relatives you could stay with?"

"He'll be staying with us," Burt rumbles.

She smiles brightly. "Alright, then, Mr. Hummel, I just need you to fill out some paperwork. Come with me."

Burt leaves, and Noah, Kurt, and I look at each other awkwardly.

"What happened with school?" I finally ask. "Did anybody give you a hard time?"

Kurt bites his lip nervously, as if he doesn't want to tell me something. "Well…I got shoved a few times, but it wasn't anything major."

I look to Noah for confirmation. He nods. "Was there any trouble from our favorite Martians?"

"A little. But it wasn't that bad."

"What happened, Kurt?"

He bites his lip again. "They just sort of…it was kind of like the first day. Except they were kind of teasing me about you."

"What did they say?"

"Just taunts about how my butt-buddy wasn't there to defend me and that I needed to find someone else to bend me over. It was stupid, don't worry about it." He wraps his arms around himself as he says it, and that's how I know it bothers him.

"If it's bothering you, it's going to bother me. We're in this together, remember?" I reach out and grab his hand, stroking my thumb over the back of it. It coaxes a smile out of him.

Noah rolls his eyes. "Okay, that's great, whoopee for you guys, but I think I have a more pressing issue at hand, dude."

I bite back a laugh. "What's up, man?"

"I haven't had sex in like, a week or something. That's unprecedented. I haven't gone that long without someone else getting me off since I lost my virginity."

Kurt looks stricken, but I crack up. Well, as much as I can, considering the damage.

"You know what 'unprecedented' means? That's like, the longest word I've ever heard you use."

"Shut up, Blaine! This is serious! I'm really hurting here," he says pitifully.

"You poor thing," I say through chuckles.

"This isn't funny, bro! Once you guys have sex, you'll understand. It's not something you can just give up easily. You're only laughing because you don't know what you're missing out on. But when it does happen, you're gonna want it all the time. You'll be begging him on your knees for—"

"Who's gonna be doing _what_ on their knees?" Burt interrupts sharply. The color drains from Noah's face, and I worry for a second that he's pooped himself. Dr. Mitchell looks like she's holding in laughter of her own, and she quietly excuses herself after setting down some papers.

"Uh—well—umm, what I meant was…I mean—"

"Nothing, Dad. Nobody's doing anything on their knees," Kurt jumps in swiftly.

Burt levels another look at Noah before answering Kurt. "Good. Let's keep it that way."

I don't know why, but he glares at me after he says that.

Burt clears his throat and starts a new, completely different conversation. "I talked to those cops about your situation, Blaine. They said that they might come by the house a few more times to document all of the abuse. I told them I would have to check with you, to make sure you're comfortable with that. Are you?"

My mouth has gone dry. I nod numbly. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Are you sure? You don't have to do it if you're not ready."

"No, I'm fine. I can do it. I can handle it."

"Alright." He sighs and rubs his hands together. "Now, onto the sleeping arrangements."

Kurt and I glance at each other.

"Rest assured, you two will _not_, I repeat, _not_ be sleeping together. Am I clear?"

He's glaring at me again, and I nod quickly.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Dad, you act like he's going to tie me to my bed and have his wicked way with me, which is very unlikely, especially with his current condition."

"Whoa, careful now, Kurt. You don't want to give him any ideas," Noah says suggestively, but another look from Burt makes him look at his shoes.

"I wouldn't do that, Mr. Hummel. We just started dating, we're nowhere near ready for any of that." I sound like a Boy Scout. An earnest, overeager, eight-year-old Boy Scout.

"Well, as much as I would like to simply take your word for it, Blaine, I can't. Our couch folds out into a bed, and I can assure you it's quite comfortable."

"Okay."

"Do you want us to pick up your clothes?" Kurt asks quietly.

I hesitate, reluctant to let him into my house without me, but I nod. "There are a few pictures in my room that I want, too. They're in the first drawer in my nightstand."

He nods. "Okay. I'll get them for you."

I'm suddenly very tired. "Thanks, baby." I yawn.

"You should rest, Blaine. It'll help you get better."

I look blearily at him. "Alright. If you insist."

Kurt stands up. "Wait," I reach out to him. "Will you stay until I fall asleep? It won't be much longer, I promise."

"Of course I'll stay." He sits back down and kisses my forehead. I scoot down and put my head on his stomach, smiling.

"We'll be in the waiting room, Kurt," Burt says. He and Noah walk out.

We lay comfortably in silence for a few moments, but then an idea strikes me. "Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you sing to me? I heard you singing in your kitchen, you have a nice voice."

"I…I don't really sing in front of people anymore, Blaine."

"Please?" I look up at him. He's biting his lip, but then he nods.

"What do you want me to sing?" He asks quietly.

"Anything. I just want to hear you sing it."

He's silent for a few seconds, but then I hear him, only just above a whisper, but still clear as a bell.

"_When you try your best, but you don't succeed,_

_When you get what you want, but not what you need,_

_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep,_

_Stuck in reverse."_

I don't make it past that. I fall asleep hearing his voice and breathing in his scent.

I won't have any nightmares tonight.

* * *

Just in case reading those fourteen pages made you forget, I'll remind you: review! :)

Oh, and the next chapter will have the appearance of a new character! You can probably guess who it is, but I won't tell you directly. Hopefully it'll be up relatively soon (or at least sooner than a month).

Umm...bye! And review!


	8. All Apologies

First of all, I would like to issue an official apology to the people who have been reading and reviewing this story so faithfully. I understand that many of you are very much anticipating the next update of the story and I apologize again for getting your hopes up, but I've come to find that I relish working on "Don't Let Me Go" less and less each time I try. I feel as though the story is going in a different direction than the one that I originally planned, and I don't know how to manipulate the content thus far into my original vision without making some major changes. As it is currently, I don't know where I want this story to go, and I don't know if I will wind up finishing it. I'm sorry if this upsets some of you, and I encourage you to share your opinions if you have them.


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